It's ideal really. They will come up with a plan. No one will like it. Everyone will feel they have been treated unfairly, but will be happy that their neighbors feel the same. And that is the nature of compromise. Now let's go eat an awful lot.

It's meant to be pretty," whispers Octavia, and I can see the tears threatening to spill over her lashes. Posy considers this and says matter-of-factly, "I think you'd be pretty in any color." The tiniest of smiles forms on Octavia's lips. "Thank you.

You’ve got about as much charm as a dead slug.

He hasn't accepted his death. He is already fighting hard to stay alive. Which also means that kind Peeta Mellark, the boy who gave me bread, is fighting hard to kill me.

And here I am, strapped into a tree, a stone's throw from the biggest idiot in the games.

I can feel Peeta press his forehead into my temple and he asks, 'So now that you've got me, what are you going to do with me?' I turn into him. 'Put you somewhere you can't get hurt.

I take Peeta's face in my hands. "Don't worry. I'll see you at midnight.